Lemonade Dreams
by KateToast
Summary: Everything was much simpler at ten years old. Post-1x13.


****_A/N: No, seriously, I'm obsessed with the Charmings, it just cannot be helped. _

**XXX**

"_You feel like talking about it yet?"_

"_Nope."_

"_You wanna be alone?"_

"_Nope."_

**XXX**

She was running through a garden filled with white and red rose bushes, rainbows of daisies, weaving her way around apple and pear trees. She was panting – her wavy blonde hair bounced behind her with each step. Her knees were filthy with dirt and grass, and probably parts of her dress, too.

She was being chased.

But it wasn't a bad or scary sort of chase; it was an exhilarating chase, the kind that pushed her to sprint faster than she ever had before, ducking and pivoting and trying to muffle her heavy breathing, a grin on her face all the while. A carefree chase that would end in a tickle capture, in belly laughs all the way to the kitchen for a glass of cold lemonade.

Everything was much simpler at ten years old.

Legs screaming for a break, she stopped behind one of Gepetto's handcrafted wooden benches. This moment of vulnerability, however, was her downfall: before she could register that someone was behind her, arms had encircled her waist. She shrieked and spun, but the tickling had commenced, and she closed her eyes at the sensation and doubled over in squirms and giggles.

"You can't hide from me. I will _always_ find you," Snow White triumphantly told her, red lips quirked in a satisfied smile.

"Stop!" Emma said, her breath ragged from laughter. "Stop! You win!"

Snow stepped back and put a hand on her hip, her thin white gown swishing. Emma mock-frowned and mimicked the stance. Her mother was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Someday, Emma would be just like her, she was sure of it, though she had her father's coloring, his hair, his eyes. _The perfect combination of us_, James often said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"You need to learn to be a bit more sneaky, sweetheart," Snow said.

"I thought I was," Emma countered, "But you _always_ win this game. How?"

"That is a mother's secret," Snow said, placing an arm around Emma's shoulders and steering her towards the massive castle before them. "Are you thirsty?"

"Absolutely," Emma said, beaming up into Snow's familiar green eyes. "Lemonade?"

"May I escort the ladies inside?"

Prince Charming rode up on his black horse, teeth shining in the midday sunlight. He swung off the saddle and pressed his lips to Emma's hair, then kissed Snow in greeting.

"Papa! You missed our game," Emma told him as they walked.

"Perhaps we can play again tomorrow," he suggested, grinning down at her. He seemed impossibly tall and proud and perfect to Emma, both of her parents did, and she felt incredibly special to be between them.

"We were about to have some lemonade," Snow said.

James nodded. "The perfect remedy to a hot day. The kitchen staff will be beside themselves with all three of us descending upon them so suddenly."

They stepped inside, the doors thrown open into the beautiful summer day. Emma felt cooler the moment she was out of the sun. There was faint music playing from somewhere, an odd tune Emma didn't recognize. She slowed; James and Snow strolled ahead together, arms linked, leaning into each other affectionately.

They made the prettiest picture Emma could imagine, David and Mary Margaret – if only they could figure things out, if only Mary Margaret had more confidence, and David had more honor, then they could stroll through their castle and be happy and Emma could watch her parents' joy, learn from it…

The music grew louder, only a few notes repeating over and over, and Emma looked down, and her dirty knees were covered in jeans and she wasn't ten years old – she was almost thirty. She watched as the back of her parents grew further away from her, and then from each other, until they were walking in opposite directions.

**XXX**

Emma jolted awake to an unfamiliar ceiling. She glanced sideways in the dark and saw Mary Margaret's still form facing the wall – apparently they'd both fallen asleep in her bed. Emma could hear her phone ringing in the living room. She sat up slowly and shook her head, trying to remember her dream – the only remnant was inexplicable contentedness.

She rushed to her phone, which had stopped and started ringing again – at this time of night it was definitely the station. As she rifled through her bag she wondered – had Mary Margaret and David been in her dream?

"Hello?" she answered.

"Sheriff," the dispatcher greeted grimly. "There's been an accident reported…"

**XXX**


End file.
